


cat's cradle

by tootsonnewts



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: First Meeting, Happy birthday Yuri!, M/M, Mafia AU, negotiator! otabek, sniper! yuri, the do the deal then strike a deal to do the deal, ya feel me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-01
Updated: 2018-03-01
Packaged: 2019-03-25 08:32:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13830390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tootsonnewts/pseuds/tootsonnewts
Summary: Otabek strides into the tiny bistro, senses on high alert as usual when he heads into small places to make deals. It’s worse for him now, considering he isn’t altogether sure what the Ice Tiger of Russia looks like, specifically. All he knows is that he’s in a building with only enough room for maybe fifteen tables, looking for a blonde. It’s not much to feel confident about.otabek and yuri cross paths in a cafe to do a deal.





	cat's cradle

**Author's Note:**

> y'all thought i was done!  
> i've been hanging on to this for a little while now, and i feel like yuri's birthday is the best time to trot it out.
> 
> enjoy!

Otabek strides into the tiny bistro, senses on high alert as usual when he heads into small places to make deals. It’s worse for him now, considering he isn’t altogether sure what the Ice Tiger of Russia looks like, specifically. All he knows is that he’s in a building with only enough room for maybe fifteen tables, looking for a blonde. It’s not much to feel confident about.

His sense of foreboding only grows as the hostess takes one smooth look at him and immediately directs him to the rear of the restaurant. He’s not late; in fact, he’s roughly fifteen minutes early. He knows this because he checked his watch no less than ten times during his walk to the place. If Yuri is this early, then Otabek has already kept him waiting for longer than necessary. That grants him no favors. He tucks his hands into his pockets and heads to the back.

Reaching his destination after what feels like an eternity, his gaze rests on a table containing three other men. Two appear to be the dumb sort of brutes that he often encounters, enlisted bodies their employers seem to think could handle him should things take a turn for the worse. They never can, and these guys don’t seem much different. Sweeping his gaze away from them to the man they flank, he lands on the back of a head decorated with a long, smooth blond braid plaited right down the center of his spine. From his current position, he notes the strong tendons in the long, elegant neck supporting the head and he finds himself immediately curious. One clean glance at the back of this guy tells him that there was simply no need for him to bring hired muscle at all – Otabek is quite sure he could defend himself just fine. There’s a black case resting by the man’s feet, and Otabek is also quite sure that whatever is inside is the tool he could use for defense.

Filing the information away in the back of his mind, he sweeps around the table and takes a seat. Once he’s situated, he looks up into the bluest eyes he’s ever seen and has to work excessively hard to keep his face in check. The Ice Tiger of Russia is gorgeous. His gaze is sharp, his jaw is strong, and his skin is smooth and creamy with a smattering of ultra-light freckles dusted across the bridge of his nose. He holds himself with a taut sort of grace that reminds Otabek of the ballet dancers he’s seen back home in the city’s theatre. He’s nothing like the other men for hire Otabek usually finds himself tangled in business with, and it throws him off for just a second as he considers how young and vital this man looks.

It would seem that Yuri feels the same way, because his eyes sharpen even more, glancing down the plane of Otabek’s chest and across his arms briefly before settling back on his face.

“You are not what I expected, Otabek Altin.”

Otabek huffs a laugh and leans forward.

“Neither are you, Yuri Plisetsky.”

Yuri’s mouth quirks a bit as he leans back in his chair.

“Well, now that we’ve established that we know each other’s names, let’s get to it.” He makes a quick, dismissive gesture with his hands, and the muscle twins stand from the table and head out of the room. Otabek watches them leave from the corner of his eye, and once they disappear from sight, Yuri speaks again.

“They weren’t here for you if that’s what you’re wondering. Appearances and all that.”

Yuri rolls his eyes and manages to look even more of the startlingly young man that Otabek has already assumed he was.

“Speaking of appearances,” Yuri continues, gaze roaming once again, “you certainly cut a striking one.”

Otabek has been sitting still and silent for about five minutes now, and he already feels like he’s been torn open and examined right down to his cells under the scrutiny of the man seated across from him. It’s not an altogether pleasant feeling, but it also warms him in a way. It’s been some time since anyone else has evaluated him in such a detailed fashion. His fingertips prickle with the desire to reach out and touch, just to make sure he’s real.

“And what, pray tell, does that mean?” He asks instead, leaning forward again and lacing his fingers together under his chin.

“Well for one,” Yuri begins, flicking his hand out in front of him, “you seem pretty young to have the position that you do.”

Otabek cracks a smile. “I could say the same for you.”

“Mmm, yes, I am impressive.”

The look of smug satisfaction that slides across his features lights Yuri up in a way that only makes him seem more beautiful, and it’s kind of infuriating to witness. The air around them thickens a bit as they both consider each other fully.

“We’re not talking about me yet, though, so let me finish, would you?”

Otabek smothers a smile.

“Please, forgive my interruption.”

Yuri flashes a razor-sharp grin and peers down his nose, like a king regarding his servant from the throne.

“I’ll consider it. Anyway, you’re young. And you’ve got the whole dark and handsomely brooding thing going on. You know, what with the undercut and the dress shirt all rolled up to the elbows. But the tattoos?” Yuri whistles under his breath. “Those are really something.”

Otabek looks down at his knuckles, regarding the symbols inked below the skin. He considers the pictures crawling up his arms – ancient gods, birds, flowers, stars. These are all precious memories to him, reminders of events and people long since passed. They’re such a heavily ingrained part of his soul now that he hardly notices them anymore.

“I’d like to see them all sometime.”

Yuri’s plain statement breaks Otabek out of his reverie, and he snaps his attention back up to the blonde. He’s blank-faced, but his eyes sparkle with entertainment and playfulness. Otabek steels himself against the crackling pit of fire that alights in his belly and quickly thinks of something he can say to distract from the advance. He may be interested, but he’s not easy.

“You think I’m handsome, huh?”

Yuri blushes. Otabek takes advantage of gaining the upper hand and turns the conversation away from himself.

“Tell me, Yuri. How does someone like you turn to this business?”

“Someone like me.”

Yuri seems less than impressed with the question, but Otabek ignores it and waits. No matter how he feels about the man sitting across from him, he’s still got a job to do. He’s the best in the business for a reason, and he always gets what he needs. He knows the best course of action sometimes is inaction.

It works.

“Oh, you know. Tale as old as time, really. Be born, be pretty, become an orphan. A nice older man sweeps you off your feet and into his gun range. The usual fairytale.”

He rattles off the story like it’s boring now, and Otabek understands. To him, it likely is. To Otabek, it’s just as riveting as the climax of any classic novel.

“And are you still swept?” he asks before he can check the impulse.

Yuri levels a steady gaze across the table, “I am, as luck would have it, available for sweeping.”

Otabek leans back in his seat. “Interesting.”

“Very.”

They regard each other in tense silence until a waitress swings by their table to pour them wine. Once she sweeps away again, the atmosphere clears, leaving room for more pressing matters.

“Your reputation precedes you, you know.”

Yuri quirks an eyebrow at him.

“I’m aware.”

“Gifted sniper, extremely talented with knives – why knives, by the way?”

“You ever heard a knife go off?” Yuri challenges.

“No, I haven’t.”

“There you go. I prefer them. They’re quiet, efficient. I’d say silent but deadly, but a fart joke hardly seems appropriate right now.”

Otabek laughs anyway. “And I noticed that case at your feet when I walked in. Is that, I wonder, your true protection?”

“Can’t be too careful these days,” Yuri shrugs. “Lots of predators out there. A girl’s gotta take care of herself. Best to leave the house with at _least_ a shotgun.”

“Ahh yes,” Otabek agrees with a sage nod. “You any good with that shotgun?”

“Not that I need to be at this range,” Yuri replies, amused, “but I’m a fucking surgeon with this shotgun.”

A deep flood of desire courses through Otabek’s veins. Their business is a dirty one, he knows this, but when faced with a man who is not only more than capable but also confident in his skill set…well, it’s more than a little attractive to him. Also, shotguns are hot. He’s a simple man, what can he say.

If he’s being totally honest with himself, Yuri seems to be everything he’s ever wanted wrapped up in a neat, beautiful package. Otabek is hardly so superficial as to only care about looks, although it does help that Yuri is extremely easy on the eyes. No, what gets Otabek is how sharp he is. He has a reputation for being hot-headed and easy to set off. Here, though, he’s witty and charming, sharp and bright. His eyes gleam with a hard-won experience that Otabek feels deep in his own bones. He sees a kindred spirit in Yuri, although perhaps his own spirit is a bit less overt.

“Well,” Otabek interrupts his own train of thought, “we’re here for business, so I think it best we get to it, yeah?”

“Yes. Business,” Yuri agrees with a smirk. He gulps down the glass of wine the waitress left behind.

Otabek slides the envelope he entered the restaurant with across the table.  

“This one is…delicate.”

“Aren’t we all?”

Yuri opens up the envelope to see the assignment within. As he reads, his eyebrows shoot up his forehead and he peeks over the top of the packet.

“Seriously?”

Otabek chuckles, “I know. This one wasn’t up to me.”

Yuri scrubs his hand down his face and sighs.

“At least give me a challenge.”

He sees his chance, and he knows he probably shouldn’t take it out of respect for professionalism, but Otabek can’t ignore the spark he feels crackling between them. He takes a drink of his wine and swallows slowly.

“That can be arranged.”

Yuri’s hand falls away and he bites his lower lip. Otabek can’t help but hope that he’ll be able to do the same sometime. Yuri stares at him pensively for a bit and then pulls himself out of it.

“What’s my time frame?”

“We’d like it done in the next fourteen days.”

“It’ll be done in ten.”

“Great, I’ll pass it along.”

“Well then,” Yuri says, standing from his seat with his gun case in hand, and throwing back the rest of his wine, “I guess we’re done here.”

“Yes, I suppose we are,” Otabek agrees, rising from his own chair to follow Yuri from the restaurant.

Once they step outside, Otabek extends his hand to bid farewell. The best course of action when confronted with something messy is to just ignore it, he decides. It’s a terrible notion. He knows for a fact that ignoring messes only makes them larger. Occasionally, though, Otabek falls victim to his baser instincts, those of which include hiding behind professionalism when he would much rather be indulging himself in wrecking cute boys. Or at least, when he’d rather be wrecking one cute boy in particular.

“It was nice to finally put a face to the name, Yuri Plisetsky. Thank you for continuing to do business with us.”

Yuri glances down at the hand for a moment before taking it in his own. Sparks flash across Otabek’s skin and distract him long enough to not notice being tugged forward into Yuri’s personal space. When he pulls himself out of his daze, he looks up to realize two things. The first, Yuri is taller than him by at least half a head (a fact he relishes, he finds), and the second, their faces are mere inches apart now. Yuri is singularly focused on Otabek’s mouth, and even though it’s precisely what he’d love to see, it’s more than a little compromising to be in this position in broad daylight on a busy street.

“Give me your phone,” Yuri demands, eyes still trained on Otabek’s lips.

He doesn’t have it in him to argue, so he does as ordered.

“Yes, sir.”

Yuri bounces his vision back up and huffs a laugh before unlocking the phone and sending a quick text.

“That’s my personal contact. Save it, because I’m not done doing business with you. Have dinner with me.”

“Is that a request or a condition of the business?” Otabek asks dryly.

Yuri leans in close again.

“It’s a pretense to get you alone tonight so I can conduct said business with you.”

“Ah,” Otabek muses. “Well in that case, what should I wear?”

“I think we both know that doesn’t matter.”

**Author's Note:**

> spot the kill bill reference
> 
> come on down and see me on [tumblr](http://tootsonnewts.tumblr.com/) & [twitter](https://twitter.com/these_mortals)!


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